


It's a wide boundary as much it’s an edge.

by Akimfu



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Porn, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Blindfolds, Character Study, Internal Conflict, Internalized Homophobia, Irving POV, John Irving/Martyrdom, M/M, Masochism, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Purple Prose, Religious Guilt, Repression, Restraints, Riding Crops, Self-Edging, Sensation Play (kinda), Sexuality Crisis, Smut, The Terror Bingo 2020, Unbeta'd, a pun is made
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 14:28:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29315589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akimfu/pseuds/Akimfu
Summary: Tozer wasn't sure what was going on, but, if he had to guess, it was more likely that John Irving, the cute lanky accountant that acted like some sort of repressed priest at work, was into edging, but he really didn't know what he was doing with this scene.for The Terror Bingo square "Edging"
Relationships: John Irving/Solomon Tozer
Kudos: 9
Collections: The Terror Bingo





	It's a wide boundary as much it’s an edge.

**Author's Note:**

> I read somewhere (I don't remember the source; probably Tumblr) that the real-life John Irving was part of the Church of Scotland: I discovered for the first time, that Christianity in the United Kingdom has these two different prominent denominations: Anglicanism in England and Presbyterianism, which is a Calvinist "subgroup" (?), in Scotland. And, as someone raised in a Catholic country and doesn't know the right terminology, from what I can understand of Calvinism (from school and media I watch) is that it's like the super-repressed sibling of the Protestant branches, but not as cathartic and aesthetic as its famous cousin Catholicism.  
> This probably isn't an accurate portrait of Presbyterianism. If you know more about the denomination, PLEASE correct me, comment below and I will correct as much as I do.
> 
> Expect John Irving being a repressed bitch who needs to get laid but it's too much of a dumb bitch to do something. Or does the wrong thing. You've seen the show: you know what I'm talking about.
> 
> FINALLY: English isn't my native language, so there's some awkward phrasing and some misspells and errors. And I repeat: this is an unbeta'd work.

John Irving wondered how he would explain to his pastor next Sunday what happened during that faithful night. John knew he should at least feel a bit of remorse, even some trace of guilt since he was manoeuvring in a very grey area; but at that moment, in that glorious point in time, what he felt was simply indescribable, and John wondered if this was the ecstasy all the catholic saints throughout history felt in their glorious zenith. Perhaps shameful should be the better word to describe the occasion, but he couldn't do it because John knew he was doing nothing wrong: his actions were free of sin. John knew the line between _harmless stimulation_ and _sinful stimulation_ because he had drawn it himself, even if he had to admit his own flesh reacted in very dubious ways and sometimes, he simply couldn't trust it. Yet, there was no way that words like "bad" or "evil" or "good" could describe what John had agreed to do to himself. He felt shame every day, let him have this night and this night alone.

A very grey area indeed.

John bit his lower lip and heard himself groaning audibly. The tight ropes that restrained his arms along his back felt rough and itchy, even though he was 100% sure that the rope he chose was soft enough to not be uncomfortable. With his eyes covered with a cheap variety store blindfold, it was as if there was nothing else in the universe, except himself, the soreness of his muscles and the ropes and-

"You alright?"

-and Solomon Tozer, of course.

"Fine.", said John in a low hoarse voice, trying his best to sound calm and restrained but failing at that. He swallowed, "I'm fine."

John heard Tozer clicking his tongue and moving forward towards him. Between the choice of wearing shoes or being barefoot, Tozer chose to walk around Irving's room with only his socks on and John believed that it added to the experience. He could barely hear Tozer's heavy footsteps on the squeaking old wooden floor and then, silence. John felt in his cheeks Tozer's breath, the sudden humid warmth giving him goosebumps, his body ready for _something_ to happen. But it didn't. Tozer kept breathing near him. Inhale. Exhale. It was almost sickening how such a simple act as someone breathing in front of him (an act that John found quite repugnant and rude, especially when the person has bad breath) made his body stiffen ( _"Arouse is the wrong word."_ ); but he had the blindfold and his arms tied on his back, so his own flawed flesh was drawn to overreact over minimum stimulation. Inhale. Exhale. And John trusted Tozer. He had to.

Inhale. Tozer's fingertips were on John's thighs near the inner area of the knees. Exhale. Slowly. They started to move upwards, and John opened his mouth, but the moan got stuck on his throat. ( _"Not a moan. Moans are an inherently sexual reaction. Sigh is a better word."_ John had to be careful with his thoughts.) Tozer's hands were now palming the sides of Irving's upper thighs, the thumbs caressing the sensitive skin in the inner area, too close to his crotch. John closed his mouth and silently whimpered. His unpredictable uncontrollable body seemed to enjoy Tozer's touch quite a lot, John could feel his fully erect member throbbing. But seconds later, he promptly came to his senses. The sooner it was over the better. Tozer had to be quick. _"I'll not come. I can't come."_

As determined earlier, after some "harmless stimulation", Tozer obeyed John's orders by removing his hands on his thighs and John involuntarily hissed, the skin missing Tozer's caress, desiring more of him. John could hear Tozer moving around, the squeak of a particularly bothersome floorboard near the dresser could've been heard behind him. Inhale. Exhale.

Without warning, as John Irving instructed Tozer, something hit his right buttock. John moaned more out of surprise than hurt or pleasure. Solomon Tozer was following his orders to a T and John was quite impressed by it. He had the reputation of being a surly lad who did his work chores more idly than diligently. He wasn't a person John liked to associate with, but compared with other more problematic people he knew that work on the same company as his, Solomon Tozer was reasonable and pleasant enough to hang out with, if both of them were in the mood. In Tozer's own words: "Because I'm in the middle, I often get stuck on the oddest jobs."

Tozer struck the other buttcheek with the riding crop Irving gave him earlier, with the same strength as the first strike, "You alright?", he asked a few moments later. He sounded concerned. Like a parent who's anxious all morning on their kid's first day of school. ( _"Maybe he's worried by my heavy breathing?"_ ) They agreed on a safeword (although Irving didn't felt it was necessary, but Tozer insisted, saying "Things always go wrong. I just hope it's a small thing."). Tozer was strangely overcautious with this task.

"Fine.", John hoped he didn't sound as condescending and childish as sometimes he could be. The first two strikes were well done. If he was in John's bedroom too, Hodgson would joke that "Tozer is a natural with the riding crop" or something inappropriate like that. John was in a sitting position with his feet under. The muscles of his bottom were warm and tender from the impact of the leather, but John wished he was in all fours so that Tozer could have better access and could strike harder, maybe even make him bleed. Part of John wondered if Tozer has done activities like this before, but Irving immediately stopped himself thinking about it or his imagination would start to go to places he didn't want to (again). Compared to people like Cornelius Hickey, Tozer was an angel.

Another round of two strikes, one in each buttcheek and John might've moaned in the heat of the moment (he wasn't sure) but it was probably barely audible. John could only hear the ringing in his inner ears and the heavy breathing of Tozer. The burning feeling in his hind was as relaxing as an expensive spa massage and John's member was starting to leak. _"Too soon."_

They agreed on six and six he got. For a moment before, it seemed for John that Tozer hesitated or simply was thinking about doing something else. But in the end, John received the fifth and sixth strikes and he had to bit his lower lip as hard as he could to stop himself from making any more lewd sounds. His mouth now tasted like copper. He kept repeating to himself that wasn't doing this for sexual pleasure. There was nothing sexual in what they were doing!

Inhale.

But Tozer hadn't moved the riding crop from the place the sixth strike hit: the leather tongue still resting on Irving's flesh. Exhale. Tozer gently moved the leather tongue upwards, the rough material exploring the curves of John Irving's back, softly passing through the contour of the hip bone.

"Watermelon."

John was now glad that a safeword was established. Tozer immediately removed the riding crop from Irving's sensitive skin. Irving needed to reestablish dominance ASAP!

"It's over! Stop touching me! Let me go!"

"Okay okay. Sorry, boss.", said Tozer as he untied the ropes. John's blood was now hot of fury, wanting to continue his yelling, calling Tozer an idiot and such, but to insult someone when you're in a position where you can't protect yourself isn't the most advisable thing even if you're in the right. With his strong hands, Tozer was quick untieing all the knots and Irving quickly removed the blindfold and put on the briefs he placed in the bed by his right. The erection had almost died down ("Thank the Lord!"), but his testicles were sensitive and eager due to too much stimulation and not enough release. Irving didn't even bother to continue to dress: he wanted Solomon Tozer out of his house!

"Here's the rest of the money.", Irving took the envelope of money out of the bedside drawer and gave it to Tozer who looked paralyzed, his eyes moving around, perplexed. Technically he did what John wanted him to do: to stimulate his body enough to satisfy his horrid wants, but not enough to come as that would be a sin; but John didn't tell him that, out of pure embarrassment.

"Did I do something wrong?"

"I told you: six strikes and that was it. But then you started playing around...", John was talking a bit too loud for that time of the night. His face was warm, probably blushing, which John hated. Tozer kept looking at him, waiting for Irving to continue his speech, perplexity transforming into curiosity then into smugness. John remembered that he, a lanky, barely dressed accountant in his thirties, wasn't very intimidating, especially in front of the broad Tozer, who could easily tackle him. John swallowed. To hide his nervousness and hesitance, John started to look around the room for his shirt. His smirk was kind of endearing.

"I wasn't going to strike you again, Mr Irving.", he said, crossing his arms, the envelope still in his right hand, "I didn't realize this was some kind of... denial play? You should've told me in the first place. Could've suggested other, better options besides the touching and the crop... I was just disappointed you didn't come, it hurt my pride."

"What?"

"Or whatever religious play we're doing... Fine! But for me, doin' this in front of the cross is kinda creepy, don't you think?", he chuckled.

"What?", John repeated, while glancing the cross he had put on the bed wall when he first moved in and stayed there since.

"But don't you worry: I won't gossip around about anybody's secret fetishes.", Tozer started to move towards John, "It's just with you... you're always acting like a repressed priest at work... I was surprised when you came to me, askin' me to hit you.", Solomon and John were too close to each other, Tozer rudely breathing towards John's face. A forward movement and the warmth could become a kiss, "Even though you didn't come to me a few moments ago."

"Get out of my house.", John tried to sound calm but his voice was trembling, "It seems you're just another-", he wanted to yell at him, call the worst insults he has heard throughout his life, but couldn't risk getting fired over workplace discrimination (even though they weren't in the workplace and John was as guilty as Tozer), "-devious... seducer."

Shocked by the ludicrous situation he was in (and the stupider attempt of an insult), Tozer showed his hands in surrender, the envelope still in his right, "Alright, alright...", he moved to John's entryway/living room/dining room to dress his jacket he left in the coat hanger and put the money envelope in the pocket. That was it. That _something_ never happened, just as John wanted. He removed himself from the edge of sin and part of him hoped he'd never return to it, while the other hoped he had just jumped into it.

Wearing a random grey shirt found on the floor, John opened the entry door in silence, "Good evening, Mr Tozer."

Tozer crossed the doorway and started to went down the stairs, "Fuck you too.", he said.

 _"That was the problem with the working class."_ , Sir John Franklin once had told Irving in private, _"They sometimes bite the hand that feeds them."_ Inside the kitsch tea room of the Franklin house, John didn't concur with his boss' opinion; but, as he watched Tozer leaving the apartment block, he wished he did. How could John feel sexually attracted to a person of the same sex as him? How could John feel sexually attracted to a person like _him_? There was a reason why most Christian churches condone homosexuality. Not only it was shameful: it was disgusting. John Irving wondered how he would explain to his pastor next Sunday that, even though he's fully aware of the church's doctrine and that he's one of the most faithful sheep in his flock, he dreamt every night, sometimes inconsistently, most of the times consistently, about Solomon Tozer doing the filthiest things to John's own mortal flesh.

**Author's Note:**

> ♡ ♡ ♡
> 
> 1) I have this tendency to avoid repeating words as much as possible (unless is for stylistic purposes, or are in a worry like I am right now), especially when to refer to a character. In this fic, I tried to stick to one word to refer to each character. The most repeated word in his fic is "Tozer", because it's the only word John Irving, the POV, uses to refer to Solomon Tozer because "Solomon" is too casual for him and John wants to be as professional and formal as possible. Because he's the POV, John Irving's referred to as "John", his first name, but sometimes I use "Irving" in instances where he shields himself emotionally or he's being too formal or I simply think it sounds better in my head. 
> 
> 2) This is a riding crop (or a type of riding crop. This is what I imagine Tozer uses in the fic):  
>   
> At the right, there's the handle and, at the left, there's the leather tongue, or keeper (?). Yes, I used wikipedia. Just call me out in the comments. Send me death threats to my Tumblr inbox. I just chose the term that would better increase my word count. (hehe)
> 
> 3) "Watermelon" is the safeword used between Tozer and Irving. I choose it because I don't like watermelons. I should've chosen "spyglass", because, in the show, Irving likes to share his spyglass with everyone, but when I remembered it, it was like 30 seconds ago, so I'll keep the word "watermelon" as an inside joke between me, my inner demons and the readers.
> 
> [Edit (10/2/21): spyglass, not telescope]
> 
> 4) I'll not explain here all of Irving's and Tozer's motivations and reactions, but I like to discuss stuff with people and we can do that in the comments down below or on Tumblr. Because if you get _it_ , you get _it_. If you ever dealt with internalized rage, guilt or hatred for yourself, you know that you're always in the defence and, if your defence is threatened, you'll just lash out, and you'll just sabotage any kind of progress in your healing process if you're not ready.
> 
> ♡ ♡ ♡
> 
> Send me shit: akimfu.tumblr.com/ask  
> 


End file.
